Fancy
by ThatNerdyWriter
Summary: This isn't based on the tv show, but on the song Fancy by Reba McEntire. An eighteen year old girl named Fancy lived in poverty until one day, her mother surprises her with a dancing dress. ONE SHOT. Rated T just in case.


"The swing swung back and forth while I kicked my legs so it could travel through my weight. The summer heat made my red hair feel like fire atop my head. I close my eyes and just let the warm New Orleans summer sun burn my pale face.

"Fancy!" I jump from the swing when I hear mama call and I make my way to our small, one room, rundown shack. Dirt cakes the little shack from the inside and out. Pa had left to find work a week ago, but he hasn't been around since. Through the grimy window, something catches my eye. Among the dirt and filth stands a beautiful red dancing dress, one more expensive than we could ever afford. I stare at it for a long time, awestruck by its beauty, only pulled out of my dream like state when mama calls my name again. When I come inside, mama is just putting the baby in the old worn down crib. She turns to me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and...guilt...

"Come, Fancy." She takes my hand and leads me to the sink where we wash our hair. She made me lean back so she could scrub my hair clean of all dirt and filth then she dries it with one of her old dresses before filling it completely with her hair rollers. She then leads me to an old mirror that is so dirty and cracked that you can barely see your reflection through it. She pulls out her old makeup bag and begins to paint my eyes and my lips. By the time she finished, my hair was set and she pulled the rollers from my red locks, letting the loose curls fall against my shoulders. She undresses me from my rags, careful not to mess up my hair, then she beings over the dancing dress and helps me slide into it. It's a satin dress with red velvet trim and it had a slit up the side clean up to my hip. It fit me good, really good. When I turn to the mirror again, a woman stands before me. Mama pulls a locket out of a drawer and she drapes it over my neck. The gold was old and picking off, and the words "to thine own self be true" were engraved in the back. It wasn't until I saw the tears welling up in her troubles eyes that I began to realize what was going on, and I can't look her in the eye. Her hand strokes my hair like she'll never see me again. She looks at the pitiful shack then looks back at me. With a ragged breath, she tells

"Your Pa's run off, I'm real sick, and the baby's gonna starve to death." My heart pounds in my chest as I watch a roach crawl across the toe of my high heeled shoe. My voice doesn't sound like my own as I ask,

"Mama what should I do?"

"Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy." She answers. "And they'll be nice to you." Mama pushes me out the door of our little shack with a prepacked bag in my hands. By now, a cab is making its way up to our little shack and I turn to mama, betrayal evident in my eyes. My hand reaches up to the locket now sitting against my neck and I rip it off, letting it slip from my fingers and fall to the ground. I can see the pain in her eyes, so I turn and watch the car roll up.

"Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down." I hear mama recite over and over while I slowly walk down the sidewalk, weeds creeping up and trying to grab at the heel of my shoe. "Lord, forgive me for what I do, but if you want out, then its up to you." Once reaching the cab, I drop the bag and I run back to mama, giving her one last hug. She smooths my hair and she whispers,

"Now don't let me down cause your mama's gonna move you uptown."

That was the last time I saw my mama, when I left that old shack. The welfare people came and took the baby, mama died, and I ain't looked back. I charmed a king, a congressman and an occasional aristocrat, then I got myself a Georgia mansion and a New York flat and I ain't gone back. Now there are a lot of self righteous hypocrites that call me bad. They criticize mama for turning me out, no matter how little we had. But though I ain't had to worry about nothing for almost fifteen years, I can still hear mama's desperate words ringing in my ears.

"Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down." Don't worry, mama, I understand. And I did it.


End file.
